Delphi Works of Ford Madox Ford (Illustrated) (465 page)

The Queen-Mother said: “Wait;” and then she appeared to reflect for several moments.

“No, I do not understand it,” she said at last. “I do not understand what profit Count Macdonald will make out of this enterprise.”

“Oh, there will be plenty of profit for me,” Macdonald said. “Your Majesty need not worry about that.”

“It is precisely about that I do worry,” the Queen said. “I do not like people to make profits that I cannot see, because they may be very big ones. And if there are very big profits, I think it is the right of the royal house to share them.”

Macdonald laughed: “Then let it be put in the bond,” he said, “that the royal house shall have six-sevenths of all the profits that I make out of this adventure.”

“I think that is very proper,” the Queen-Mother said. “Da Pinta, see that that is added to this document.”

Da Pinta looked first at the Queen-Mother and then at Sergius Mihailovitch.

“This appears to me to be nonsense,” he grumbled. “It is expressly stipulated that Count Macdonald is to make no profits, and six-sevenths of nothing is nothing.”

The Queen-Mother waved her fat, begemmed hand towards the ground in a gesture of command.

“Put it in the document,” she said, “we are well satisfied with the rest of it. It is an excellent constitution that will be beneficent alike to the people and the sovereign.”

“But Your Majesty has not read the document,” Da Pinta muttered.

“My excellent Da Pinta,” the Queen said, “you are very stupid. If we are satisfied that the contents of a document are satisfactory, then...” Her Majesty wavered for a moment because she had nothing whatever in her head. “Then,” she continued with a new start, “we are satisfied.” And she looked almost triumphantly out of her sleepy eyes at Da Pinta. “Besides,” she ejaculated, “you yourself, my excellent Da Pinta, have assured me that this constitution will be excellent for our people.

Am I to understand, then, that you withdraw? Or, perhaps, have you too not read this document?”

“Excellent Majesty,” Da Pinta stuttered, “I took it down with my own hand from the dictation of Count Macdonald and of a Senor Pett.”

“Then you are acquainted with it?” the Queen asked. “How could I be otherwise?” Da Pinta asked in return. “And you think it will be excellent for the people of His Majesty the King and myself?”

“It will be admirable,” Da Pinta said.

“Then what more could you desire?” the Queen asked triumphantly. “I think it would be admirable, and you agree with me. My dear Da Pinta, I do not understand why you make all these objections. Is it because it is stipulated in the bond that you will make no profits? My faithful friend, can you not rely upon the well-known generosity of our house? Besides, your estates will be returned to you.”

The excellent Da Pinta, who enjoyed an income of £120 a year by the generosity of Her Majesty, set his heels together and, with a stiff bow, said that if he could not rely upon Her Majesty’s generosity no one in the world could.

“Then,” the Queen said triumphantly, “I still more do not understand why you have made all these objections to our sanctioning this project. Can it be, my faithful friend, that you have become avaricious in your old age? That I do not wish to believe. And yet you object to there being inserted in this bond a clause giving to the royal house a small share of the undoubtedly immense profits that Count Macdonald will make out of this enterprise. What, then, am I to believe? Da Pinta! Almost you force me to imagine that you expect secretly to receive from Count Macdonald that share of the profits — six-sevenths, and surely that is little enough — you desire to divert into your own pockets that share which should fall to the royal house. My dear Da Pinta, this saddens me very much; for if I cannot trust you, whom can I trust?”

Fire glowed in Da Pinta’s dark brown eyes. He stamped his feet.

“But this is imbecile!” he exclaimed. “Madam, there will be no profits, so it would be the act of a madman to put in a clause about profits.”

“Da Pinta, you forget yourself,” the Queen said. “Your sufferings have made you mad, so we pardon you.”

Da Pinta rolled his eyes despairingly upon Macdonald. “Your Excellency,” he exclaimed passionately, “will you decide whether it is I that am mad or this silly old woman?”

The Queen had folded her arms, and was complacently tapping her left elbow with the fat fingers of her right hand.

“Poor Da Pinta!” she exclaimed. “Assuredly we shall have to have you put into a strait-jacket.... But I say that assuredly I will not put my name to this document unless the clause about the profits is added.”

“And I say,” Da Pinta exclaimed, “that I will never add it.”

With a face of deep seriousness Macdonald turned to the Queen.

“I will add it myself,” he said. “It is obvious that Your Majesty is entirely in the right. Certainly six-sevenths of my profits shall go to the royal house.”

The Queen directed a glance of triumph to Da Pinta. But that nobleman once more burst out:

‘‘But if there are no profits, how can there at the same time be six-sevenths of the profits?”

“My dear chap,” Macdonald said to him in English, but speaking so fast that the Queen did not well understand him, “if there were no madness in this sort of adventure there would be no adventure.”

“What’s that? What’s that?” the Queen exclaimed. “I do not like this whispering.”

“Your Majesty,” Macdonald said, “I could not very well ask the Marquis to mend his manners at the top of my voice.”

At this point the King, who had been trying all the while to catch a large blue-bottle that noisily evaded his fingers on the window-pane — the King turned round and uttered the words:

“I say, look here!”

But the Queen went on: “I ask Your Excellency, though you as an interested party cannot be expected to return an impartial answer...”

Again the King exclaimed: “I say, look here!”

But the Queen continued: “I do not expect you to return an impartial answer. All the same, I ask you, could any one’s attitude — any royal person’s attitude — have been more correct than mine has been all through this interview? For I have two duties: one towards the people of Galizia, and the other towards the royal house.” And the Queen looked with heavy eyes at all the three who stood before her. “In the course of these tiresome negotiations,” she continued, “I have in the first place safeguarded the interests of a beloved people, and in the second I have insisted on securing the interests of the royal house against adventurers...

And then suddenly the young King burst out in English:” I say, look here! This is all bally rot. I won’t have that beastly clause put into the silly document. I won’t have Macdonald insulted, and that’s an end of it. He’s a friend of mine, and if either of you insult him you insult me. But I’ll put a clause in to say that Macdonald shall be made a Duke because he is the best friend I have. And Miss di Pradella shall be a Marchioness because she is a jolly girl, and Da Pinta shall have the Golden Fleece, and I’ll do my best to get both Macdonald and Da Pinta the Garter. So that’s an end of it.... Put all that I have said into the bond, Da Pinta, and let us have no more talking. For I think it’s our sheer duty to say that if Macdonald, who is a gentleman, refuses to make any profit, it’s our duty not to want any share of the profits. If I’m going to be a king, I am going to be a king, and I can’t have anybody — not even Count Macdonald — being... What’s that silly phrase you used at Kingston, Mac?... Oh yes, I can’t have anybody being
plus royale que le roi.
Put it all in, Da Pinta, as I have said. And then, for God’s sake, get the signing and sealing over. I can’t stop here all day. I’ve got more important things to do than this nonsense.”

And the King turned once more to the large blue bottle and the window-pane. Outside, his new car was shining in the sun, and he made a gesture to Mr. Salt, who, in his mackintosh, was looking up at the house.

“Now that was a very silly speech,” the Queen-Mother said. “Who wants anybody to be
plus royale que le roi?
You would almost think that my son suspected me of being selfish. But that, of course, is unthinkable.... Well, what do we do next?”

A sudden jab of toothache went through Da Pinta’s head, and he groaned lamentably.

“Yes, what the devil do we do next?” he cried.

“Oh, give Her Majesty the pen, and light a little candle for the sealing-wax,” Macdonald exclaimed patiently. “There is really nothing to be done except to sign and to seal. After all, all the other things can be put into some other document.”

“Of course, of course,” the Queen said.” How foolish you have been, Da Pinta, to impede us with all these objections! Of course, we must put all the rest into another document. I think your sufferings have made you mad.”

“But this is only what we all wanted from the beginning,” Da Pinta grumbled.

“Of course it is,” the Queen said. “Now be silent! Where is there a pen?”

Between two of the windows there was a little table that had upon it many silver objects. To this Da Pinta rather sulkily proceeded. He lit a little candle that sent a golden glow on to the facets of crystal ink-pots and on to the roughened surfaces of chiselled silver seal-holders, so that all the table resembled a small altar.

“Your Majesty signs first,” he said to the King. “And Your Excellent Majesty second; then I sign as witness, and seal as Great Chancellor of the Kingdom; then Count Macdonald...”

“
Hallo! Where is it?” the King said. He came from the window, and, his tongue rolling round his lips, he signed his name. “Now I can go.”

“No, Your Majesty must wait to affix the seal,” Da Pinta said.

“Oh, cut it short!” the King grumbled.

Da Pinta set the sealing-wax in the little candle and, drop by drop, let the wax, like drops of blood, fall on to the parchment. He worked the wax round and round.

“And this is history!” Macdonald uttered pleasantly to himself.

The long room was getting a little dark. In the background one of the duchesses by the tea-table had gone to sleep, the old Duchesse de Creil was knitting fast. Two of the priests were talking together; the third had curious eyes fixed on the royal group by the window. The King sealed, the Queen signed, a great, fat, stupid-looking woman with pendulous cheeks of a papery white. At the second seal Da Pinta burnt his fingers, and he began to suck them and to stamp his feet. But there was at least the semblance of a decorous silence.

“And in the end,” Macdonald exclaimed, “no doubt all historic scenes at the heart of them were much like this. Napoleon I was tortured by internal cramps when he gave up his sword on the
Bellerophon.
Napoleon III read one of the stupidest novels in the English language all through the night before his abdiction. Without doubt, Caesar was chiefly concerned in keeping his feet dry when he crossed the Rubicon; and no doubt Alexander, when he sighed for new worlds to conquer, was only hungry...”

“Now I suppose,” the Queen exclaimed, “you will allow me to finish my tea in peace. I consider that I have been much too good-humoured.” And going towards the tea-table she held up one of her fat hands for Macdonald to kiss. He did so with one knee bent, and, graciously, she sailed on towards the two duchesses and the three priests. The King had already run out of the room, and they heard from outside the long buzz of the immensely powerful engine. It gave three great crashes, and then they heard its noise fade into distance. Macdonald went near the table and bent over Da Pinta, who was signing his name with elaborate flourishes and great care.

“Where does the romance of all this come in?” he asked gaily.

“Romance?” Da Pinta grumbled. “That detestable woman will make me spit out all my teeth one of these days! I tell you she is unbearable.”

Macdonald sat himself slowly down at the little table and picked up a quill.